Emma said, “I love the flat, Papa.” The remark was ignored.

The professor had obviously decided that the effort to continue the tease was disproportionate to the pleasure it gave him. He said, “Well, that seems satisfactory. And now I believe it is customary to offer you both a drink. Personally I dislike champagne, and white wine disagrees with me, but there is a bottle of Burgundy on the kitchen table. Ten-forty in the morning is hardly an appropriate time to begin imbibing, so I suggest you take it with you. I don’t suppose you’ll be staying long. Or”—he said hopefully—“you could have coffee. Mrs. Sawyer tells me that she has left everything ready.”

Emma said firmly, “We’d like the wine, Papa.”

“Then perhaps you could see to it.”

They went together into the kitchen. It seemed discourteous to shut the door, so both managed to restrain an impulse to erupt into laughter. The wine was a bottle of Clos de Bèze

Dalgliesh said, “This is an impressive bottle.”

“Because he liked you. I wonder if a bottle of plonk is waiting in his desk drawer in case he didn’t. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

They returned to the library, Dalgliesh carrying the bottle. He said, “Thank you, sir. We’ll save this for a special occasion, which we hope will be when you’re able to join us.”

“Maybe, maybe. I don’t often dine out except in college. Perhaps when the weather improves. The Sawyers don’t like my venturing out on cold nights.”

Emma said, “We hope you’ll come to the wedding, Papa. It will be in the spring, probably May in the College Chapel. I’ll let you know as soon as we have a date.”

“Certainly I’ll come, if I’m well enough. I regard it as my duty. I gather by referring to the Book of Common Prayer—not my customary reading—that I shall be expected to take some non-verbal and ill-defined part in the proceedings. That certainly was the case with my own father-in-law at our wedding, also in the College Chapel. He rushed your poor mother up the aisle as if afraid that I might change my mind if kept waiting. Should my participation be required, I hope to do better, but perhaps you will reject the idea of a daughter being formally handed over to the possession of another. I expect you are anxious to be on your way, Commander. Mrs. Sawyer said that she might arrive this morning with some things I need. She will be sorry to have missed you.”

At the door, Emma moved up to her father and kissed him on both cheeks. Suddenly he clutched her, and Dalgliesh saw his knuckles whiten. The grasp was so strong that it looked as if the old man needed support. In the seconds when they were clasped together, Dalgliesh’s mobile phone rang. Not in any previous summons had its low but distinctive peal seemed more inappropriate.

Releasing his hold on Emma, her father said irritably, “I have a particular abhorrence of mobile telephones. Couldn’t you have switched that thing off?”